A Quiet Riot
by electricsymphony
Summary: Minnie McGonagall walks—head held high, new golden badge pinned securely on her bosom—with a sense of honor and duty. She's never shied away from a difficult project before, and she's about to take up a case much more intricate than just being a Hogwarts Prefect – mentoring and caring for Ravenclaw's newest outcast: an at-risk, sullen and indifferent young boy named Tom Riddle. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Because a) I don't believe that conception under a love potion is a good enough explanation for an inability to love, despite what Dumbledore and JKR believe and because b) McGonagall is the badass unsung hero of Harry Potter. _  
_

I attempted to get right all of the new info about McGonagall's history, although I may have skewed her age a little older for the sake of this story. Please don't hold that against me. Obviously, the things past her 5th year at Hogwarts are not going to remain the same, as Tom will change her life just as she changes his. But the general family backstory is the same. At least, I attempted. Feel free to correct me anytime my canon is off, though, because I haven't been in the HP fandom in quite a few years, so please forgive me if I falter sometimes.

Slight warning for light Dumbledore bashing throughout this story. I wouldn't call it bashing, per se. It's more of just showing him in an unfavorable light.

Enjoy. :)

 **Disclaimer: '** Harry Potter', its characters, plot lines and premise belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and affiliates. I do not own _anything_ detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings.

* * *

 **I. Almost**

\- almost: adverb; not quite, very nearly, for the most part.

* * *

 _September 1_ _st_ _, 1938_

She watched as Professor Dumbledore's eyes shined unnaturally bright—keen, rapt and attentive, like a glint of the deadliest curse—as he watched the young, dark-haired boy under the Sorting Hat. Everyone was waiting with bated breath as the time ticked past 4:10. A particularly daring Hufflepuff had cast a Tempus Charm that hung ominously above him, ticking rhythmically over the table adorned of yellow and black. None of the teachers took issue with this—as a matter of fact, none of them noticed. For some reason, every teacher on staff—including Headmaster Dippet—seemed entirely enthralled by this odd boy.

The last hatstall the school had seen had been _her_ , and this boy, only four years later, was within seconds of becoming the newest anomaly. The boy surveyed his audience with a cool, steely demeanor, but his eyes were glassy, unfocused. His robes were of a cheap, tawdry material but otherwise, his appearance was rather immaculate. Clean, polished—a striking sort of elegance etched into the amused curve of his lips, ever present in the crisp, neat curl twisted in his dark hair, in the unusual way his shoulders never drooped and his posture never faltered. His lips moved soundlessly in a conversation that appeared only a minor annoyance and nothing further.

In more ways than one, Tom Riddle had enraptured the attention of everyone in the Great Hall, and Minerva McGonagall was not an exception.

There was a low murmur of a hushed whisper next to her, and Eric said quickly to his companions, "Ravenclaw. Five galleons."

Minnie's brother, Malcolm, scoffed loud enough to be thrown a few dark looks by an annoyed 7th year and murmured back, "That kid's a Slytherin, I'd swear my life on it. Make it ten and you've got yourself a deal, Fairley."

"Be quiet," Minnie hissed, eager to see where their newest hatstall would be placed, irritated that her boyfriend and her brother couldn't help but bet on this strange boy's future.

"Give me ten for Hufflepuff," Helen 'Scottie' Scott declared emphatically, and all three heads turned to her incredulously, even Minnie, who had been temporarily distracted from the hatstall by Scottie's outlandish bet. "What?" She proffered a wolfish grin; "I happen to appreciate the underdog."

Minnie was still scrutinizing Dumbledore's penetrating gaze when the Hufflepuff's hovering Tempus Charm ticked to 5:00 and a raucous, resounding "Ravenclaw!" roared through the hall.

No one moved. Not a single clap rang out from the huddle of blue and bronze. Then, to her absolute horror, Eric Fairley—her best friend, her confidante, her boyfriend of seven months and the absolute biggest wanker she'd ever met—put his hands together in a slow, gradual clap. From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure stand up from amongst the crowd: Oliver Newhert, a new 5th year Ravenclaw Prefect and a fierce competitor of hers in Transfiguration and elsewhere, applauded loudly and vigorously.

Dumbledore, an unsettling twinkle of curiosity in his light eyes as he pulled the hat from Tom's head, joined the clapping of both Minnie's bitter rival and her boyfriend, and she herself put her hands together for this strange boy. Soon, the hall broke out in scattered claps and undertones of hushed whispers. The boy sauntered to his new table, either incredibly oblivious, or wholly apathetic.

Minnie suspected the latter.

"You two gits owe me ten galleons a pop," Eric said with a smug grin as he twirled his wand between his fingers, gesturing to Malcolm and Scottie. Whereas the former looked decidedly put out, the latter broke out in a huge smile.

Scottie waved a hand in dismissal, her curly blonde hair falling between her eyes: "It was ten galleons well spent to see Malcolm choke on his own tongue."

Eric, seated directly beside Minnie, grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, his gentle chestnut eyes confounded and concerned—"You alright, 'Min?"

She responded with a kind smile, but her brows were still knotted in concentration as she peered off to the Ravenclaw table. "Of course," she replied earnestly, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Just before the next name was called out, she heard Lola Brown's voice wafting from a couple seats to her left—"There's something very unnerving about that Riddle boy."

Minnie glanced back up at her favorite teacher, her mentor, and her personal tutor—a man she looked to for guidance, solace and as a beacon of morality, and watched his eyes follow Tom Riddle to the Ravenclaw table, cold and calculating, narrowed in an interest that did not at all seem benign.

 _Yes,_ she thought with a slight trepidation as Malcolm swatted Scottie's hand from adjusting the angle of his red and gold tie, _There is indeed something very unnerving going on here._

* * *

"Your stealth leaves something to be desired, Ms. McGonagall."

It's three weeks into term, and she finds herself in the sanctuary of her library once again. The oak paneled wood and rough stone encases her second home, inferior only to the dimly lit empty classroom on the third floor obscured from view by a statue of Cliffton Burke, an obscure revolutionist from the 15th century with wildly absurd views and a horrid reputation as a raving drunk. He was also the most acclaimed Transfiguration Master of his time, and Professor Dumbledore saw fit, mirth and mischief in his twinkling eyes, to hold their tutoring sessions behind Burke's watchful, intimidating stone eyes.

Between the Three Musketeers—Eric, Malcolm and Paul—and their ever-dutiful sidekick Scottie, she hadn't had much free time on her hands. Add in Jasper Viglietta, the newly appointed dictator of the Gryffindor Quidditch Schedule, Prefect rounds and her Transfiguration Apprenticeship and she had sorely neglected her second home in favor of quick revisions and hastily scribbled essays by the faint midnight glow streaming through the windows of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Her eyebrow quirks in interest. "I wasn't aware I was being watched," she responds in amusement.

His tone holds none of the same playfulness. "Neither was I." His voice entirely monotone, the only indication of a rumple in his impeccable façade of indifference was a passing, fleeting gleam of mirth in his eyes. And a hint of something further. A hint of something she'd seen before—a hint of something she sees every morning in the mirror. He's intrigued by her.

"Where did you hear of me?" She asks, genuinely curious.

"Oliver Newhert," he says briskly and nothing further.

"Ah," she smiles ruefully—"The boy likes to spread heinous lies about me. He's either quite smitten with me, or else quite revolted by my existence."

The quill in his hands presses against the parchment a little harder, his grasp a bit firmer than it needed to be. "So it's a lie that your mother gave up her wand, her magic, her entire identity to be with a _muggle?_ "

There is disdain in his voice, clear as day, but there is also curiosity. He is not saying this entirely to be hateful—he's genuinely baffled why anyone would do such a thing.

Minnie sighs, snapping her book shut, and stands, walking a few feet to his table and motioning to the chair beside him; "May I?" He seems to deliberate fairly quickly, but his nod of acceptance is almost imperceptible. _Almost._

"She loved him, I reckon. That trumped everything else."

Tom scoffed, a sneer on his lips—"That's a ridiculous claim."

"And why is that?" Minnie asked, a tender expression across her features even as it seemed the boy was about to launch a full on attack at her Muggle heritage.

A dark grimace set itself on his lips. "Muggles are not capable of dignity, let alone love. They inflict damage—on persons, on groups, on the grand scale of society. That's what they do. That's _all_ they do. They enjoy wizard's pain— _freak's_ pain. The lot of them abhor anything that breaches their narrow-minded confines of what _should be_ , and dismiss anything that is. They're wretched, all of them."

Minnie seems to consider this. She looks at Tom Riddle and sees not a vicious soul, but a broken one. She does not know where he comes from, but she reckons it's a place that has shaped this skewed view of his world, and she again gets the strange, foreboding feeling that Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the staff know something about this boy that unsettles them.

Well, Minerva McGonagall has never been easily unsettled.

"My father told her to leave, you know," she says earnestly, as her eyes close for a brief moment. "Several times."

Tom looks triumphant. "My point exactly—they don't care. None of them care." His expression turns sour, his inflection icy cold. "They deserve everything they get."

Minnie almost walks away, almost believes it's a lost cause. _Almost._

Her mother's voice rings through her consciousness, rooting her firmly in her seat. 'Lost causes are merely ventures someone else has started and not cared enough to finish.'

"No, Tom," she says, in a steady, even tone; "My father watched my mother suffer with her identity sans magic for years, and whilst he watched her, I watched _him_. He was devastated—he wanted to give her the world, only it wasn't his world she wanted. He implored her to go back, to give him up to find herself again. She stayed, Tom. She stayed because he was a good man who _cared_ about her."

Tom's eyes narrowed down to slits, but he didn't say anything. Rather than be defeated by his silence, she was fortified by it. He didn't accept, but he didn't refute. She took it as a victory.

"Minnie!" Scottie came barreling into the library, the force of her boisterous shout causing many students to look up. "Malcolm and Paul set up an underground Exploding Snap game in one of the unused Dungeons next to the Potions Lab, and they're tricking Muggleborn First Years with illegal fire-cards. The bloody brats are downright terrified!"

Tom gave an uncharacteristic snort, but did not look up. Scottie looked from Minnie to Tom with a raised eyebrow, but plowed on undeterred nevertheless. "Give 'em detention for a month, with Binns. For the love of Merlin, please, I'm begging you. I can't even imagine the look on Paul's face if he has to recite an essay on the Goblin Wars in four different languages he doesn't understand. He'd be absolutely _groveling_ at my feet to get him out of it, and I'd love to lord it over him for being such a ponce to Tricia."

Before Minnie even had a chance to open her mouth, Tom raised his head ever so slightly, and, with still narrowed pupils, declared, "Isn't that an abuse of her Prefects badge?"

Scottie had never hid her surprise well, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. "Why, yes, kid—that's _exactly_ what it is," she admitted with a wicked grin.

"Startlingly devious for a Gryffindor, isn't it?" His smirk was almost good-natured, teetering unsteadily between disdainful and playful. _Almost._

Scottie shook her head in amusement at the precocious first year. "What can I say, kid—we can't _all_ be hatstalls."

Tom's eyes visibly darkened at her flippant use of words to address him, but he, again, didn't retort.

"Minerva," he addressed the dark-haired witch, who looked startled to hear her name broach his lips; "It's been an _illuminating_ conversation. We ought to have it again, no?"

Without waiting for her answer, he swept up his books and leveled Scottie with an appraising eye; "Your devious plans are admirable, but your pettiness will be your downfall."

Scottie chortled, mirth dancing in her eyes. "You're a Seer now, kid? Have you got the ever-elusive third eye?"

Tom smirked, this time decidedly in good-natured humor, and left without another word.

Minnie watched him go, a pensive expression on her face.

"That kid's creepy," Scottie declared resolutely.

She was met with a fierce glare from Minnie, who's jet-black hair had fallen a little out of her ponytail, a few tendrils curling in front of her eyes.

"In an _endearing_ way," Scottie hastened to clarify, "Calm down, Mama Bear."

When Minnie didn't react to the joke, Scottie's smile turned downward immediately. "Oh, God—don't turn this boy into another one of your projects, 'Min. You've got enough on your plate."

Minnie shook her head as they walked out of the library, her spirits already decidedly lifted. "It'll be good for us—for _both_ of us. Just you wait, that boy'll surprise us all one day. I guarantee it."

Scottie raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a scoff on her lips.

"In a good way," Minnie clarified, her conviction full only of earnest belief.

Looping an arm through Minnie's, Scottie swiftly changed the subject to a gossip mill story she couldn't care less about.

And in that moment, Minnie almost believed her unwavering conviction about Tom Riddle. She really did. _Almost._

* * *

 **Notes:** Next chapter we'll be getting Tom's POV, and his experience in Ravenclaw, who he meets and how he reacts. This was more of a prologue-esque set-up chapter between our two main characters.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)


	2. Abandonment & Gratitude Update

Hello, old friends. I'm not sure most of you are even going to remember this story, but I know how it goes with never taking the time to trim out your follows list, and it's quite alright if you don't remember it (in some ways, I wish I didn't either.)

* Likely, if you do remember at all, you remember this profile under its older names (West of the Boulevard, or, more likely, Seriously Sirius Marauder.)

Unfortunately, this is not an altogether happy message. I have made the decision to abandon and eventually delete this story, and, because I toiled with this decision for a long time due to my own displeasure with having stories I loved deleted randomly with no warning, I am going to be keeping all the abandoned stories up for 6 months from now (10/5/17) to make sure everyone gets a fair and legitimate chance to request a PDF copy of any of these stories that may have sentimental value to you. Please just PM me as soon as you can with your request, which story in particular you want, and your e-mail address.

There is, however, a silver lining. I am currently delving back into the HP world, and there will be quite a few new stories coming down the pike. Please check my newly updated (and way too long) profile for more info on that if you're at all interested in this development.

For a good few of you, you will likely get a handful of these e-mail notifications because you're on alert to my entire profile (some of you for entirely different fandoms), and, because of this, I'm only putting these notes once a week by fandom. I'm not trying to barrage all my best fan's e-mail boxes with a crazy hail-storm of alerts under my name.

I will be putting this note in a handful of old HP stories tonight, and next week I will be doing the same for my abandoned Gilmore stories, followed by abandoned Vampire Diaries stories the week after.

Thank you so much for all the love, support and appreciation you've all given me over the years. You guys were my start, this fandom was my start back when I was the world's shittiest teenage writer and without your words of encouragement, I'm not sure I'd still be writing here, let alone writing as a profession or working on my own novel some ten odd years later.

I appreciate it more than you can imagine. 3

Always sincerely,

Christina

\- (who has gone by many a name over the course of her online existence.)


End file.
